by David Haynes
Ryan laughed, juice almost leaking down his nose. The funniest thing about it was that Sam Portland was the only one not scratching his balls. Emily was sleeping with just about anyone and everyone except Sam. She’d even come on to Ryan himself yesterday. The girl had gone crazy.
Old Bob Fletcher walked into the hall. He watched him take a few painful steps in and stop. He seemed to be looking for his keys in his pocket an awful lot today. He stared toward Emily Carr, a brief smile on his lips, and then looked away. Ryan closed his eyes and shook his head. Was it possible? He laughed loudly then, coughing and spluttering on his apple. This place was the best.
On the table opposite, a kid stared over at him. “What the fuck are you looking at?” Ryan said. The kid looked away. He wasn’t going to let anyone stare at him or give him shit anymore. Times, they were a-changing and he was a new man.
Megan glanced up briefly and then put her head down again. Her popularity was based on her looks, who she hung about with and not much else, certainly not her sparkling personality. Over the years, she had made lots of enemies in and out of school. She always thought she was above everyone else; her family had the right connections, plenty of money and were respected, if not universally liked. That had come to a swift end when dear Uncle Gary turned out to be a raging sicko. Not even her new boyfriend, Jacob Straw, seemed to want anything to do with her now.
A couple of tables over, a group of girls and boys had their heads together, whispering, laughing and glancing over at Megan. They were misfits, the kids who didn’t fit into any of the cliques and so made their own. As bad as things got for Ryan, he wouldn’t go anywhere near them. Even if it meant eating lunch on his own for the rest of the year.
One of them threw a bread roll at Megan. It hit her on the head, bouncing off onto the floor. She looked up, her brows knitted together. That would never have happened a week ago.
The group sniggered, as did a couple of other tables. A carton of milk flew across the hall, trailing a silky stream behind it. It landed on Megan’s table and exploded, showering her with milk. A huge raucous round of laughter went up from just about everyone. These things had been happening in the dining hall for years but never to Megan. She’d thrown a few milk cartons herself but never got one back.
Another one landed on the floor beside her, soaking her legs. Milk ran down her ankles and into her shoes. Ryan could hardly keep his face straight but he tried. She looked utterly lost, looking around for someone to support her, someone to rescue her from this hell.
“Pedo Palmer!” someone shouted. More laughter.
“How’s your psycho uncle?” another voice shouted. Yet more laughter.
Ryan could see tears on her cheeks, her chin wobbling. He got to his feet and started across the hall. Before he got very far, another milk carton arced through the sky, hitting her on the head, drenching her. Her hair, face and upper body was now covered in white. It dripped from her nose. The room erupted. It sounded like a documentary about monkeys on the National Geographic channel.
One of the kids who had instigated the milk throwing – buoyed by his success, garnered by the years of abuse he’d suffered at Megan’s hands – stood up, walked to her table and got into her face. He was big, overweight with a serious case of halitosis.
Ryan was close enough to hear him above the laughter.
“You fucking bitch,” he said. “I’ve been waiting years to get you back. Get ready for the rest of this year, Megan. I’m going to…”
He didn’t finish. Ryan punched him in the mouth, knocking him on his ass against the wall. Blood ran from his split lip and a tooth lay on the floor beside him. He touched his mouth, saw the blood and started to blubber.
“Leave her the fuck alone,” he shouted, then turned to the rest of the hall. “That goes for all of you. Any one of you touches her and I’ll fuck you up.”
He reached down, taking Megan by the arm. A thrill went through him. He hadn’t touched her since that day up at the cabin when it all went wrong. He half-expected her to resist, to push him away and to give him a volley of abuse, but she didn’t. She was like a doll, offered no resistance at all, allowing him to pull her toward him. She must be desperate, he thought, guiding her out of the hall. More desperate than he could have imagined, or hoped for.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said. There was nobody to see the huge smile he was wearing. He had some plans for Megan; some real nice plans for both of them.
33
Dan drove straight to Castavet’s bookstore after work. The name wasn’t lost on him. He doubted it was the owner’s real name, but it was a good name for a bookstore specializing in horror. He parked outside, walked up the steps and lifted his hand to knock. The door opened before he had chance.
“Mr. Law! How wonderful to see you again! Please, step inside.”
The man had a disarming way about him that put Dan off his stride before he’d even uttered a word. There was still an hour of daylight left but the store was as dark as he remembered. It could have been midnight inside.
As he walked behind the counter, Castavet swept his arm toward the rear of the store.
“Still no power, I’m afraid.” It looked like the same two candles were burning. He slapped his hands onto the wood. “Now, Mr. Law, what can I do for you today? I’m afraid you’re out of luck if you want your book. I’m still waiting for a delivery.”
Dan shook his head. How to put this without sounding crazy? Without coming across like a character from one of the paperbacks in his spare room?
“Your books are showing up all over town, Mr. Castavet. I’ve seen three of my students with them and they’re…well, let’s say they’re not themselves.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
Dan paused. He wasn’t sure he did either. His frustration made him blunt. “What’s in them, Castavet?”
“I told you. Nothing. They’re blank. Have you had the opportunity to look at one yet? You’d see there’s nothing in them. I’ve heard what’s been happening in town, Mr. Law, and whilst I’m very sorry for the people involved, I fail to see how my books have anything to do with it.”
Dan opened his mouth to say something, but found no words. It was an impossible jump to make – from the empty pages of books to murder. Impossible, but still...
“I’m sure all those authors you love would be terribly flattered that you think my little books are behind the madness, but perhaps you shouldn’t take those stories too seriously. This isn't Castle Rock after all."
Castavet chuckled. Dan didn’t like the sound. Not one bit, but he didn’t know what else to say. He’d been stupid coming here.
He pointed at Castavet. “Just stay away from those kids, okay? Stay away.”
Dan turned and walked out of the shop. As he slammed the door behind him, he heard the man’s cheerless laughter behind him. He shivered. He waited for a moment, feeling the nervous tension leak from his body. The encounter had been brief but tiring. He hoped he’d made his point.
He needed to see a friendly face. Someone real.
He hadn’t seen Lori since the weekend. It had been a difficult day for everyone and he wanted to thank her for trying to help him out with Paul and Brad, and her show of compassion with Christine Adams.
Dan parked his car in the library lot and walked in through the main doors. It was strange not seeing Linda Phelps behind the counter. She had always been there. Even as a kid, she’d seemed old. And now she wasn’t there, she was dead. A murderer and a murder victim. He would never have thought that was how her life would end. He doubted she would have considered it either.
A light was on in the back room and he peered inside. “Lori? You there?”
She hurried out, smiling when she saw him. “Hey, Dan. How’re you?”
“Good. I just came by to see how you were doing. And to say thanks.”
She frowned. “Thanks? What for?”
“For helping out on Saturday. For what you did with Christine
. It wasn’t an easy situation. For any of us.”
She shook her head. “And I thought I was coming back to Silver Lake for a simpler life. I got that wrong, huh?”
“It got pretty complicated around here all of a sudden.”
“You heard about the police? About the detective?”
He nodded. “I tried to help out afterwards.”
They stood in silence for a few seconds.
“How’s Paul been?” he asked, taking a quick scan of her exposed skin. No new bruises, that was good. He’d feared for her after Saturday and the way she had stood up to him.
“Okay, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I haven’t seen much of him.” She paused. “Listen, I’m about to lock up. You want to get a coffee?”
He paused. The last time they drank coffee, Paul had come into the diner, his aggression toward both of them obvious.
“Sure,” he replied. Maybe this time, he’d tell him exactly what he thought of him.
Lori smiled. Despite the chaotic hell happening in town, it seemed the most genuine smile he’d seen from her.
They crossed the street, heading toward the lights of the diner. Paul had been driving up and down the street all evening, but Dan couldn’t see him or his truck. He was relieved.
They ordered coffee but took a seat away from the window. That had been Lori’s idea.
“How’re the kids doing?” she asked.
Dan shrugged. “Hard to tell really. They’re pretty resilient but I’m not sure they’d talk to me if they were struggling.”
“Oh, come on, I’m sure you’re one of the cool teachers. You remember Mr. Cooke, Cookie?”
Dan nodded.
“He was the coolest teacher ever. All the girls crushed on him, some of the guys too.”
Dan laughed and then thought of Emily Carr. He took a sip of coffee. “There’s a lot of stuff happening with the kids at the moment. Behavior I’ve never seen before. Out of character.”
“It’s the age. You remember what it was like being sixteen, don’t you? Things are all over the place, you don’t know if you’re an adult or a child and all those hormones...” She exhaled loudly. “I remember that, only too well. Seems I’m making the same mistakes all over again.”
“Paul?” he asked.
She swallowed. “It’s so stupid. I’m not some doe-eyed, naïve little girl anymore, and yet I fell for all his bullshit all over again.” She looked away. “When I came back to Silver Lake, I said to myself I’d never get screwed over by another man. Never again, that’s what I said to myself, and yet here I am, once again.”
It was hard not to say something but Dan kept his mouth shut. She wasn’t finished yet. He could see it in her eyes.
“You remember how handsome Paul was, back in high school? All the girls wanted to date him and he picked me. I was so smitten, I let him get away with anything. Even then he had a bad streak running through him. He never hit me or anything like that, not then. I don’t think he’d quite grown the balls to start beating women.” She stopped and picked up her cup. “He isn’t shy in that respect. Not anymore.” Lori touched her arm. “You know he hits me, don’t you?”
Dan nodded. “It’s pretty obvious.”
“Linda knew too. She told me to leave him about a hundred times.” She stopped. “It’s not that easy.”
“Why?” he asked. “Do you love him?”
She chewed the inside of her cheek for a second. “No,” she said, finally. “Not anymore.”
“Anymore?”
“You saw him on Saturday. He’s crazy and getting crazier by the day. Not that I’ve seen much of him, thank God. He’s got some job now, keeps him out most of the night. Construction, I think. And when he does come home, he sleeps. Badly too. He’s been talking. Nonsense of course, gibberish. Talking about some story and how he needs to finish it.” She laughed. “Paul Weaver’s never read a book in his life.”
Dan frowned. Castavet’s books again. “You can’t go on like this, Lori. You know it won’t get better. He’ll keep hitting you and…and…”
“I know,” she said. “But I don’t have anywhere I can go. My folks are dead, I don’t have any friends, he’s seen to that, and…”
“You can stay at my place,” Dan interrupted. It was out of his mouth before he’d had chance to think. “I’ve got a spare room and you can stay as long as you want.”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea. You know, the way he is, he won’t be happy.”
“So what? It doesn’t matter whether he’s happy or not. You just need to get out of there, Lori. You know I’m right.”
She sipped her coffee, looking toward the window. “Why? Why would you make the offer?”
Dan sighed. “Maybe because I think you’re worth more than Paul Weaver. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” He smiled. “And I sort of like the idea that this is really going to piss him off.”
“You’re doing it to get back at him?”
“Maybe.”
She smiled. “He is a dick, isn’t he?”
Dan nodded. “Colossal.”
“Just until I get myself sorted?”
“As long as you need.”
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” she said. There were tears in her eyes.
“Hey, it’s no problem. You want to get your stuff together?”
She exhaled loudly, slumping back in her seat. “I guess the decision’s made, no use in prolonging it.”
“Good,” he said. “We should get moving while he’s still busy doing…doing whatever it is he’s doing.” He drained his cup and started to stand. “I’ve got to warn you, I eat a lot, and I mean a lot, of pizza.”
Lori smiled but it was a tense gesture. “He’ll be so mad,” she said.
“Don’t worry about – ”
There was a loud bang and the diner’s doors blew inward. Glass flew everywhere, showering the floor with shards.
“Nobody fucking move!”
A man dressed all in denim stood by the door, a pump-action shotgun in his hands. He wore pantyhose on his face and a red bandana over his mouth. His voice was muffled but his intentions clear. He wore an old Stetson on his head like some cowboy from the movies.
He walked over to the counter and slung a sack at the waitress. She looked horrified, her mouth hanging open.
“Empty the register!” he yelled. “Put it in there!” He pushed the sack with the shotgun.
She froze, unable to move.
“Now!” he roared. The man looked quickly around the diner, staring at Dan. “Don’t you fucking move!” he shouted. “Don’t do it!”
The waitress was fumbling with the sack, trying to open it up, but her fingers were shaking so badly she couldn’t. The man fired the gun into the ceiling, showering both him and the waitress with plaster dust. She screamed and finally opened the sack. The register pinged open and she started stuffing whatever was in there into his sack. It couldn’t have been much. It wasn’t exactly thriving anymore.
Dan watched with horror, his attention drawn to the kitchen door. It was easing open, the muzzle of a gun inching out. He wanted to signal the cook to stay where he was. The guy had what he wanted now, he would leave and nobody had to get hurt. If he came out guns blazing, there would be a bloodbath. But the door continued to ease slowly open.
The register was empty. The guy turned to Dan and Lori. “Wallet and purse,” he demanded.
To his right, the kitchen door flew open. It was followed by a couple of shots from an ancient-looking revolver. The windows shattered and the waitress started to scream again, but the second shot from the cook’s revolver hit her in the back of the head. Blood jetted out of her mouth and she fell forward.
The man spun around, firing the shotgun as he turned. The first volley smashed all the crockery behind the counter. He pumped it again, the second volley blowing the chef and the doors backward. The guy followed him into the kitchen.
“Come on!” Dan hissed. He grabbed Lori, almost dragging her out of her seat. Their shoes crunched over the broken glass as Dan barged through the wrecked doors, out onto the street.
He kept hold of her hand as they ran back to the library to get his car. The sound of gunfire continued in the background. There was at least one other member of staff in the diner. Dan clenched his jaws together. He’d phone the police once they were out of range. What good it would do, he had no idea. The closest operational police station was now over in Rainworth, more than twenty miles away.
Just before he rounded the corner, to turn off Main Street, Dan glanced over his shoulder. There was only one vehicle on the street – a truck. Paul Weaver’s truck, and it was pulling up outside the diner. He looked away as the headlights blinded him.
34
Castavet heard the commotion and smiled. Gunfire, screams, the sound of breaking glass could mean only one thing – bloodshed. His favorite thing. It was just a shame he couldn’t see what was happening. The diner was on the same side of the road as his store and no matter how much he craned his neck, he couldn’t quite see.
Not that it mattered. He’d seen just about every kind of atrocity man could visit on man, and he didn’t expect there to be anything particularly novel happening down the street. Bank robbers and thieves were generally pretty unimaginative when it came down to it. But they got the job done and if they didn’t, they died trying. Either way it was a win for him. Another book, another soul, another tasty morsel.
He watched as a man and woman ran up the street, hand in hand, past his door. It was the teacher. They always worried him. He’d worked with them before but it was never easy, and there was something about them that the words in his books couldn’t quite adhere too. It was something about their minds that made them difficult. But they were entertaining and he found that impossible to resist. This man, this Dan Law, was especially interesting. His own story was yet to be told, his ending unclear, but to place him in a tale just like the paperback novels he loved was amusing. As much as the man read, as many times as he read about small-town horrors in those books, it would still take him an age to realize what was happening here. They just couldn’t accept the truth. Not even when it was written in blood.
